


In Plain Sight

by cass_e



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Azriel is a bit of an ass at first, Banter, Chubby Reader, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Innuendo, Intrigue, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Passive-aggression, Plus-Size Reader, Post-ACOSF, Rating will change, Threats of Violence, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cass_e/pseuds/cass_e
Summary: Ever since Eris Vanserra became High Lord of the Autumn Court, you've been working as his official spymaster. You've accompanied him to everything from high-profile meetings to after-parties but, because of your general appearance and weight, no one has ever suspected you.But one night, when you're trying to coax information out of Keir at the Court of Nightmares, you meet your match. Unsurprisingly, it's Rhysand's own spymaster, Azriel, who wants to speak with you alone. It should be a simple request, but nothing is ever that simple.And that's okay - you never liked simple anyway.~WATTPAD VERSION~
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Reader, Eris Vanserra & Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from... Enjoy, I guess! <3

When no one was looking, you magicked away some of your wine. Because tonight wasn't about you — tonight was about Keir, that wretched male from the Court of Nightmares.

And it was about getting him as loose-lipped as possible.

From where you stood behind Eris and his entourage, including some of his brothers, you were practically invisible. But your High Lord wasn't excluding you on purpose.

No, as his spymaster, it was your job to be unimportant and unseen. And as an "unattractive" female faerie, it was your forte.

Of course, being a faerie meant you weren't entirely hopeless. You still glowed in comparison to mortals, and on good days, you came across as what you hoped was beautiful.

But in all your two centuries of being alive, not a single faerie had tried to look past your weight — until Eris Vanserra.

When you'd first met him, the odds hadn't been in your favor. His father, Beron, had hunted you down, paid you generously to kill his son. But because you'd heard good things about Eris, you'd spared him and then, instead, killed Beron.

You'd let Eris take responsibility for the death of his father so long as you could work for him, and then the rest was history. Contrary to popular belief, the current High Lord of the Autumn Court was a great conversationalist and a gentleman — and to you, personally, a close friend.

"(Y/n)."

You blinked, looking up. Eris had moved to the back of the group to speak with you.

"Oh, sorry," you said, tracing the rim of your glass. "I was just thinking. And waiting for our next move."

When your High Lord's face relaxed, the amber of his eyes reminded you of cozy fires.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, waving a hand. His golden rings glimmered under the cool, purple light. You'd always thought Eris was handsome, but here, in the Court of Nightmares, the lighting didn't do him justice. "How're you holding up?"

You raised a brow, surprised by his question.

Eris's mouth curled into a tired smirk. "What?"

"It's not like you to be considerate in public."

Your High Lord scoffed, glancing around. "No one's watching us, (Y/n)."

You grinned before confiscating his wine. "You're not supposed to be the loose-lipped one tonight, High Lord."

You were about to say something else when the back of your neck tingled. Unlike other faeries, you had unusually heightened senses, so you knew when you were being watched. And right now, you had someone's undivided attention.

Without missing a beat, you bowed to Eris.

You raised your voice when you said, "Yes, High Lord. I'll get you more wine."

You walked off without sparing Eris another glance.

Even though you desperately wanted to know who was watching you, you didn't turn around. It would've made you too suspicious.

So instead, you made a beeline for the refreshments. You wove through the crowd, making sure not to touch anyone.

The music was reaching a dramatic crescendo, so when you glanced up, you weren't surprised by the massive crowd that swept across the black granite floor. The fey moved as one unit, each movement precise.

You sighed as you watched them. The way they danced was cold, but . . . it was beautiful and elegant in its own way. It reminded you of that one story Eris's brothers told when they were in a teasing mood — the one where he'd danced with Nesta Archeron in this very room.

As you looked away, you let yourself smile at the memory.

And then you came back to yourself as you closed in on the refreshments. The tingling in your neck had persisted, so your shoulders were tense. The only thing that gave you peace of mind was the dagger strapped to your thigh.

You wouldn't use it now, not here, but later . . .

You watched the dancers as you refilled Eris's cup of wine.

"Thirsty again?"

You glanced to your right as a few fey snickered. A black-haired male was leaning against the table, picking through the food. His friends stood a few feet away from him.

You figured he wasn't the one who'd been watching you. He was too obvious.

And he _oozed_ arrogance.

"I'm getting wine for my High Lord," you said. Remembering you were supposed to act drunk, you smiled shyly, warmly. "Why?"

"You've just been drinking and eating so much," the male said, throwing a grape into his mouth. "Make sure you leave some for the rest of us."

You licked at your teeth as you looked the male over.

He must've grown uncomfortable with your silence because he asked, "What're you looking at?"

"Oh, I'm just . . . remembering your faces," you said, letting a little cruelty slip into your smile.

The black-haired male reared back, grimacing. You thought it was because of what you'd said, but then— The tingling in your neck sparked, making you shiver.

You hadn't been paying attention, but—

_No._

You hadn't felt the stranger sneak up on you for one reason and one reason alone.

"Leave us," Azriel said, stepping in between you and the other fey. His eyes darkened as the shadows behind his neck danced. "Now."

The fey snarled but eventually left.

 _Motherfucker,_ you thought, fuming.

You'd been followed by Rhysand's very own shadowsinger. He must've known Eris would try something with Keir tonight. All your High Lord wanted to know about were Rhysand's "family heirlooms," including the knife he'd been offered a few years ago.

Azriel turned to you, holding his hands behind his back. His wings rustled as he looked you over, brow relaxing. There was such a boyish but sinister look in his eyes that it caught you off guard. Only for a second, though.

You bounced back, smiling as if he'd dazzled you. "Thank you, Lord Azriel." You made yourself blush and then lowered your gaze. "I have to say, though . . . I didn't expect _you_ to come to my rescue. We barely know each other."

The shadowsinger hummed once, amused. "It's nothing. I'd do anything to help a friend of Eris's. Now that he's the High Lord of the Autumn Court, he's an important ally."

You cleared your throat, tracing the rim of Eris's glass. "I don't think my High Lord thinks of me as a friend . . . I simply work for him."

"Work for him, indeed," Azriel murmured, taking one step toward you. You stared at the space between his legs, waiting with bated breath. "I've always wondered what you do for Eris, (Y/n). In fact, so has Rhysand. Up until recently, we had no idea you existed, and apparently, you've been working for Eris for many years now."

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile as your mask cracked in two.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back.

Holding Azriel's narrowed gaze, you asked, "So many important fey thinking about me? I'm flattered." You paused, looking around in faux thought. "What do _you_ think I do, shadowsinger? I'm curious."

Azriel's upper lip twitched. "Does it really matter what I think?"

"Ah, so you don't know, then, do you?"

When he pursed his lips, you grinned in triumph.

Swirling Eris's wine, you continued, "Do try to keep your shadows in your pants. If you don't, then I'll have no other choice than to dance with them, and I'll have you know — I'm a horrible dancer. I wouldn't want to _stomp_ them out of commission."

The amusement flickered out of Azriel's eyes like a candle. All at once, his expression hardened. He extended his wings until they curled around you.

"My, how bold of you," you said, looking him over. "I would move them to leave, but I know touching an Illyrian's wings is impolite. Unless . . . I have your permission?"

Azriel crossed his arms.

"Was this part of your plan?" you teased. "Are you courting me, shadowsinger?"

"I'm only here to deliver a message," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Leave Keir alone. He doesn't know anything."

"I don't take orders from you." When his shadows started to curl around his torso, you added, "And those are feline at best, curious to a fault and quick to bite."

Azriel lowered his gaze, brow furrowed. "Did you just compare my shadows to _cats?"_

"Yes," you said, extending a hand.

You scared some of the darkness away, but a few bold shadows curled around your fingers.

"Shadows don't scare me. It's the faerie behind them that should." You paused, turning your hand over. A few tendrils swept over your palm. "Yet I sense no hate from you. No threat. Perhaps you should work on your interrogation skills, shadowsinger. You're a little rusty."

When you turned to leave, Azriel let you, retracting his wings.

As you walked back to Eris, the back of your neck tingled again. You took a deep breath, relaxing your hold on the glass before you broke it.

You weren't used to being confronted, especially by high-profile fey like Azriel.

It would've been so easy to just leave the party and not look back, to let your presence dim for a few years, but you were too realistic to believe in ideals. The shadowsinger was infamous for keeping tabs on fey of interest, and now, you were just that.

When you spotted Eris and his entourage by the edge of the dance floor, you sped up. You felt too out in the open, exposed; the back of your neck _still_ tingled. You gritted your teeth as you shoved past Eris's brothers.

And then you tugged on his sleeve, making him turn around.

Thrusting his glass in his hand, you crossed your arms with a small huff. "They know."

Eris glanced around before asking, "About Keir?"

"About _me."_

Eris's face fell into one of his customary grimaces. "Fuck." He paused before the corners of his mouth curled up. "Although, I knew you'd be found out sooner or later."

"They don't know what I do, per se," you said, "but I have the shadowsinger's attention, which is never good."

Eris sighed long and hard. "Well."

You stared at each other in silence, trying to come up with your next move. But before either of you could say anything, someone spoke up at the front of the group.

"Eris? Ah, there you are."

Eris turned around and locked eyes with Keir.

"What a surprise," Eris said, letting his mask fall back into place. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I couldn't help but notice Rhysand's little spymaster talking to one of your Autumn friends," Keir said. "Should I be concerned?"

Eris chuckled. "Why don't you ask her for yourself?"

Your blood pressure spiked, but you pulled yourself together before Eris turned, gesturing to you. He must've decided that keeping you hidden had come to an end.

"This is (Y/n)," Eris said, letting you come forward. "She works for me."

Keir looked you over, narrowing his brown eyes. "How so?"

Eris looked at you.

_Well, here goes nothing._

"I'm his spymaster," you said, extending a hand. Keir's eyes widened marginally. Some faeries behind him gasped and whispered. "I've been working for Eris for a few years now."

Keir cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Yes . . . I remember you now."

The _tingling_ turned into a heavy pressure.

You forced a smile, not wanting to turn around. You'd threatened to stomp out Azriel's shadows — and meant it. But you couldn't risk it in front of Keir.

"Yes, we met a few times," you said, clasping your hands. "I tend not to leave impressions on people. It's my specialty."

Eris grinned at your comment, looking back to Keir. "Brilliant, isn't she? We came here tonight to speak with you, actually, but Azriel scared her off."

It was a lie, but you added, "He told me to stay away from you. That you don't know anything."

Something cruel flickered through Keir's pinched expression. "Interesting."

You were about to continue the conversation when you felt something brush against your ankle. You shot Eris a quick, impassive look before he spoke on your behalf.

Unfortunately, the sensation _hadn't_ come from your dress. Something was curling against your shin, the touch faint and inquisitive.

Curious, like a cat rubbing against your leg.

Blood boiling, you funneled magic into the heel of your shoe, brought it up, and then pressed down.

The shadow under your dress writhed under the ward on the bottom of your heel, minuscule, and well-hidden.

You felt triumphant for all of five seconds before another wisp, much larger, dragged up your leg. Your gut inflamed as the shadow continued, but you stood your ground — that is, until it grazed the inside of your thigh, inches from your core.

Your leg twitched, giving the shadow just enough space to escape.

Turning around, you glared past everyone, staring into the shadows. You thought you saw something flicker across the floor, but it was gone the next second.

"(Y/n)?" Eris called for you. "Everything okay?"

"Just peachy," you said, composing yourself. "Anyway, Keir, I'd love to talk when you have a moment."

Whatever Eris had said to Keir must've been convincing because the faerie nodded without hesitation.

"How about a dance?" Keir offered, extending a hand. "That way, it won't look as suspicious."

You reached out to take his hand, but movement over his shoulder made you take pause. Eris stiffened before smoothing out his expression.

"Azriel, Cassian," Eris said slowly. "My, I feel so special tonight."

Cassian rolled his eyes.

Keir, unfortunately, started to back off.

"I was just about to dance with Keir," you said, glaring at Azriel. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," Cassian said, "but our High Lord _does_ want to speak with you, Eris. In the meantime, Azriel has offered to keep you company."

Eris knew this conversation was attracting unwanted attention, so he said, "Yes, fine. I'll speak with Rhysand. (Y/n), enjoy yourself. And Azriel . . ? Behave."

A shadow flickered across Azriel's face. "I'm sure the lady can handle herself."

"Oh no," Eris said in passing, "I meant to behave for your own safety, not hers."

You smirked as your High Lord left with Cassian. As you turned to face Azriel, you realized Keir had already run away.

"Do you have a habit of interrupting things right when they get to the good part?" you asked bluntly. "I wonder, do you get off on it? Edging and denial?"

The fey around you coughed around laughter and then practically ran away with mumbled excuses.

Azriel's stone-like expression had barely changed. The scrunching of his nose was the only thing that gave away his irritation.

"I would offer a dance," you continued, "but I have a feeling your toes hurt from being stepped on."

"You think you're so funny," Azriel said darkly. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

Usually, you were a pro at reigning in your ego, but you couldn't help yourself.

"What? Surprised that someone caught one of your shadows? I didn't get to where I am today because I have a pretty face, shadowsinger."

Before Azriel could respond, you added, "And I don't appreciate you touching me without my permission. It makes me wonder, do you have a habit of this? Of groping unsuspecting females with your rare powers? It seems like a grotesque waste."

Azriel's composure snapped as he scoffed, incredulous, and then his wings rustled in irritation. He gave you a once-over and then smirked leisurely, something dark lurking behind his hazel irises.

Once again, your gut inflamed with a painfully unfamiliar sensation.

"Your permission?" he echoed, taking one step toward you. "So if I'd gotten your consent, it would've been . . . _fine?_ In public?"

You scowled even as your skin broke out in gooseflesh. "What did you do to piss off Rhysand?" you seethed. "Poor Azriel. He has to distract the ugliest faerie in Prythian by flirting with her."

Even the shadows behind Azriel gave pause. Something like confusion swept through his features.

"I won't be bothered any longer," you decided, walking around one of his wings. "I'll see myself to a table and wait there until my High Lord returns."

A wave of anger you hadn't felt in years flooded your muscles — your fingers, which were now rigid. Before tonight, not a single faerie had suspected you. And even if they had, they would've never, _ever_ tried to distract you with their precious time, with hollow words of interest.

And you didn't need some stone-faced, emotionally stunted shadowsinger to be the first.

When the back of your neck tingled under Azriel's gaze, you clenched your fists. And then he was by your right side, walking with you.

"I think you misunderstand," he said, stretching a wing behind you. "I'm not to let you out of my sight."

You clamped your mouth shut as you veered left, but he curled his wing by your shoulder. You glared up at the claw and then at Azriel — but didn't stop walking.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Azriel taunted, face impassive.

You homed in on one of the exits, not slowing down. "I'd prefer your infamous torture over whatever charade you were told to play. And rather poorly, mind you."

"Is this the most you've ever been allowed to speak? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say you like listening to yourself."

"I've always been allowed to speak," you said, tone clipped. "I just don't like wasting my breath — or time. Words are important, no?"

"You speak as if they have a limit."

You scoffed. "It'd be _ignorant_ to believe otherwise."

When you entered the foyer, you started toward the main exit, alerting a few guards. They straightened when they saw you and Azriel approaching.

"Leaving?" the shadowsinger murmured.

You didn't reply as the guards opened the doors and then let you pass. The Hewn City shone before you, black marble glistening, reflecting green and purple faelights. It made the cavernous place look like one singular, fucked up mirage; you couldn't wait to be back in your room, which was across from Eris's.

"Ah, I see," Azriel said. "You've used too many words on me. That's understandable."

Your mouth twitched with the effort to remain silent.

"I was told to speak with you alone," Azriel continued. "A simple request."

You clasped your hands as you strode through the immaculate streets. _Nothing is ever simple._

It was like he'd read your mind because he added, "It'll be simple as long as you cooperate."

You paused, looking around the streets. They were busy with fey, but you weren't concerned about the attention.

In all honesty, you were trying to remember the way back to your hotel.

Azriel inhaled to say something, but when you spotted what you hoped was the right street, you walked to the right. Your hip and the skirts of your dress brushed against his front.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his right wing twitch.

"No one has ever _wanted_ to be tortured," Azriel said, taking his place by your side again. "Will you be the first, I wonder? Although, it would strain our relationship with the Autumn Court. And I doubt you'd want that for your _precious_ High Lord."

You kept your eyes forward as you said, "I don't desire torture, Azriel. Or being hassled, for that matter. If you want to arrest me, then you can certainly try. But I'm innocent, so if you _do_ try, you'll have hell to pay for it."

You spared the shadowsinger a glance. "I want to know _why_ you want to speak with me. Why and how I caught your attention after so many years . . . Choose your next words wisely."

The siphons on Azriel's armor flared. "It may come as a surprise to you, but my High Lord likes to look out for his allies, including his allies' friends."

You stopped walking, heels scuffing against the sidewalk. "What—?"

Azriel hadn't been paying attention, so he kept walking — and so his wing slammed into you.

You yelped at the soft but leathery texture.

Azriel spun to the side, uncurling his wing. You looked from it to him, feeling as if you'd just violated something.

"Could you _at least_ tuck those in?" you snapped.

Azriel did the exact opposite, stretching them in a show of power. Despite yourself, you glanced at the bumps and ridges. At the golden crimson light that shone through them.

You curled your fingers in thought, wondering what to say.

"Maybe you _are_ trying to court me," you decided on, forcing a smile. "I have to say, though, that I've seen bigger wingspans. I've . . . _touched_ bigger wingspans."

_Lies._

Mercifully, Azriel didn't see through them — or he didn't think you were worth proving wrong. Which, well, that hurt a little, but—

He simply tucked his wings in and then gestured for you to follow.

"You've caught Helion's attention," Azriel said. "He claims you stole several books from him while you were studying in the Day Court."

You rolled your eyes. "This about _books?_ I didn't steal them, I just . . . forgot to return them."

Azriel raised a brow. "For a decade?" You were about to answer, but he added, "Helion's more hurt that, back then, you were Eris's spymaster. He thinks your High Lord was using you to spy on him."

You sighed long and hard, rubbing at your temples. "If Helion wants his fucking books back, then he can have them. They're in pristine condition." And then you paused, thinking. "How did he even find me? I used a fake name."

"Fey whisper," Azriel answered with a shrug. "And you're not just some no one, you know. You used your maiden name, and you come from a prominent family."

Anger flared in your chest like molten lava. "A family who beat and starved me. A family who disowned me. The least they could do is let me use their name for something as minuscule as literature."

You felt yourself wilting but knew you couldn't afford to — at least, not in public.

 _"There,"_ you muttered, throwing up a hand. "Take your findings back to Rhysand. I'm going to bed."

You started to walk past Azriel, but he grabbed your arm, turning you to face him.

"You could've started serious disputes between powerful families," he said, searching your face. "Do you even _care?"_

Your magic numbed your fingertips with its intensity as you wrenched away from him.

"I care about myself and my High Lord," you nearly spat. "Really, shadowsinger? Do I care about those who don't care about me? What an _ignorant_ question. And so what if I was praying on my family's downfall? You, of all people, should understand where I'm coming from."

You cussed under your breath as you stomped off, magic bubbling under your flesh, just begging to be let out.

You made it all of ten feet away when Azriel called out, "You're going the wrong way."

Your frustration was razor-sharp, but you swallowed your pride. "And just where, pray tell, am I supposed to fucking go?"

The shadowsinger's jaw twitched. "Follow me."

And so you did.

You walked on Azriel's right as he led you through the Hewn City, and within minutes, you were back at your exuberant hotel. He accompanied you all the way to your room, and when you finally stood in front of your door, you paused.

"Are you to stand guard too?" you asked, but there was no malice in your question. The anger from before had exhausted you. "Or do I have the luxury of privacy?"

"I'm simply here to retrieve the books," Azriel said. "My . . . _informants_ told me that you brought them along."

You sighed as you unlocked your door. "Yes, yes. I have the godsdamned books with me. Come in."

As you pushed inside, the fireplace automatically roared to life. You kicked your heels off and then padded across the floor, passing your large bed. When you got to your desk, you rifled through mountains of parchment.

"Mother above," you muttered to yourself. "This is such a mess."

Once you located two of the three books, you turned to Azriel. You hadn't realized it, but he'd closed the door to your room and sat on one of the settees by the fire. His wings were spread out, draped over the furniture.

You snorted at his position. "What a display. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to impress me."

"Is it working?"

You tripped over the hem of your gown and just barely caught yourself.

"No," you replied, wishing you'd sounded more confident. "I see you found the third book. Well, here're the other two. Goodnight."

But Azriel didn't get up as you offered him the books.

"I was told that you're studying ancient magic." He chose his words carefully. "The kind that precedes even Amren, a close friend of mine."

Still standing, you gestured for him to continue.

"I was also told that it was shapeshifting," Azriel said, narrowing his eyes. But there was no threat behind them; he was only curious. "I have to ask, why? Did you even make any progress with it?"

You weren't prepared for such questions; your face burned with barely contained shame. Azriel must've noticed or heard your heart beating because he politely lowered his gaze.

"No," you said, leaning against the settee across from him. "I didn't make any progress. Not even after a whole decade."

You paused, deciding a little conversation wouldn't hurt. "I taught myself so many dead languages I nearly went blind. Eris banned me from reading past sunset. Claimed he couldn't have his most valuable asset out of commission."

Azriel blinked in surprise. "Really? That's interesting." When he glanced up and noticed your sour expression, he added, "That wasn't sarcasm . . . And you didn't answer _why._ Unless — your motivations are personal."

You paused, listening to the fire as it popped.

"It's complicated," you said, sitting across from the shadowsinger. You plucked at your skirts and then tucked your feet under your ass. "I'm a spymaster, yes, but my only advantage is being underestimated because of my appearance. So at some point . . . I began to wonder what it'd be like to have both. To be . . . _appealing_ to the eye when necessary. To repulse busybodies with imperfections."

You rubbed your hands together, thinking.

"I work for Eris because there's good in him," you said, voice softer than before. "Because he was the first faerie to see something important in me, to look past my appearance . . . But still, I wanted to be useful to him in other ways. Hence the books." You gestured to them.

When Azriel didn't say anything for a few seconds, you looked up at him.

But he was only looking at you with an odd fondness that softened his entire face. Except for the curl of his lips — that was anything _but_ soft.

When you glanced at his wings, you couldn't help but imagine what they'd look like over you — while Azriel—

_No._

Even though your thoughts had taken a turn, you cooled your expression.

You'd touch yourself once Azriel left and then never think of the Illyrian again.

"What?" you asked, patience wearing thin. "Is there something on my face?"

After a few more seconds of silence, Azriel decided to say, "You're just an interesting female."

You snorted. _"Right."_

"I'm serious," Azriel said as he stood. He tucked the books under his arm. You thought he was going to leave when he glanced toward your desk. "Would you be willing to share your notes?"

You stood, brushing off your dress. "I'm sorry, but no. Sharing such information wouldn't make me good at my job, now, would it?"

Azriel beheld you and finally tucked his wings in. "You're not wrong." He saw himself out but paused in the doorway. "You know, (Y/n), you're not as invisible as you think you are."

You lowered your gaze. "Goodnight, shadowsinger."

Azriel sighed as he closed the door, leaving you alone. You listened to him walk away, and once his footsteps faded, you went over to your desk.

You sorted through the papers, grazing the dried ink. Your notes were a jumbled mess, but surely . . .

 _Surely_ you could give some to Azriel.

He seemed like a good enough male.

And besides, it wasn't like you were giving him the answer. And offering them would be . . . _diplomatic,_ a kind gesture.

So you gathered an armful of papers and hurried down the hall. You bounded down the stairs, barefoot and unusually eager.

When you got to the first floor, you strode toward the lobby. You thought you missed Azriel, but his low, uninterested voice filtered down the hall.

You were about to turn around the corner when you heard him say, "No, Rhysand, she bought it. I have the books."

"Wonderful," the High Lord said. He chuckled to himself as he added, "I'd almost forgotten that you could charm your way into any faerie's pants, let alone their room. Good job. Helion will be pleased to have his books back, and no one's toes were stepped on."

You chose that moment to step out from behind the wall.

Rhysand was the first to spot you over Azriel's shoulder.

The shadowsinger whirled around, eyes uncharacteristically wide.

"(Y/n)," Azriel said, pulling himself together. "What're you—?"

"As a nice gesture, I was going to lend you some of my notes," you said, holding them up. "I thought, why not? Eris might even think it's diplomatic of me."

You turned to Rhysand, whose expression was as indiscernible as ever.

"It was an _honor_ to be charmed by your spymaster," you said, fist closing around your papers. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, which means Eris won't either. Which means that now, you have a much, much bigger problem than three missing books."

A muscle in Rhysand's jaw twitched. "Is that a threat?"

"You dug your own grave, High Lord," you said, incinerating the parchment in your hand.

Only ash remained in your palm.

Eris chose that moment to enter the lobby. He instantly noticed your standoff.

"What's going on?" he asked, crossing the room in a few strides. "You have the books, Rhysand. Now leave us alone."

You lowered your head, using magic to cry. When you lifted your face, cheeks blotchy and wet, Eris stiffened.

Azriel snarled, lunging toward you. "You—!"

Rhysand shoved a hand against the shadowsinger's chest, but you'd already flinched back, pretending to be scared. You moved behind Eris.

"What the fuck did you do?" your High Lord snarled.

"Azriel." Rhysand's eerily calm voice made your skin break out in gooseflesh. "Leave with the books. _Now."_

Azriel took one more damning look at you before he turned on his heel and left, wings tucked in tight.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Rhysand said, glancing down at you. He had the nerve to look guilty. "I told Azriel to be kind because we treat our allies like friends."

"He _flirted_ with me," you said, making yourself small. It wasn't entirely an act — after all, your pride had taken a hit. "But it was all a ruse. And his shadows . . ." You trailed off, grabbing Eris's wrist.

You lowered his gaze, searching for the right words. "Before, in the ballroom, I caught one of his shadows by my leg. I stepped on it because I was surprised, _disgusted_ more than anything else . . . But before I could ask for help, your shadowsinger sent another one . . . up my leg. To free the first."

Eris whirled around, grabbing your shoulders. You'd never seen him more furious. "He did what?!" He looked over his shoulder, glaring at Rhysand.

When you glanced up at Rhysand, he'd furrowed his brow, but he didn't look upset with you anymore.

"Is that the truth?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Then I apologize for that," he said, placing a hand over his heart. He sounded sincere, but you still hated him and his stupid shadowsinger with every fiber of your being. "You say you stepped on his shadow? Azriel must've panicked. No one's ever done that before."

You simply averted your gaze.

Nothing had gone right tonight; you were absolutely drained.

"I've heard enough," Eris fumed. "I thank you, Rhysand, for talking Helion down, but your shadowsinger's indiscretion will not be overlooked. Goodnight."

You let Eris lead you back upstairs, head pounding.

An ugly, bitter feeling took up residence in your chest.

As you opened your door, Eris asked, "You burned your notes?"

You paused, staring blankly ahead. "Yes."

". . . May I ask why?"

"Because." You closed your eyes as real tears burned behind your lids. "It was the dream of a stupid, stupid girl, and it'll always be just that and nothing else."

And with that, you slammed your door shut.

If you never saw Azriel again, it'd be too soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated XOXO
> 
> This'll have around 5 chapters. I'm not sure how frequently I'll update, because I'm working on another Azriel/Reader fic, but I'm excited to continue! :')
> 
> ~[I'm on Tumblr :P](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)~


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